


"You Moved Your Hand"

by destielfromperdition



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4459154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/destielfromperdition/pseuds/destielfromperdition
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kiss was supposed to be an act, but when Misha moved his hand, everything changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	"You Moved Your Hand"

It was on stage in front of thousands of fans that they shared their first kiss. Misha had put his hand over Jensen’s mouth to make it seem fake, but for just a fraction of a second, he moved it. Their lips had touched, almost too quickly to feel, but long enough for Jensen to know what Misha had done.

A thousand thoughts flooded Jensen’s head. _Had anyone noticed? How many of the cameras captured it? What the hell was Misha thinking?_ He couldn’t think clearly. The feeling of Misha’s lips on his clouded everything. The screams and cheering from the crowd had reached unimaginable levels, unable to believe what they had just witnessed, even when thinking it was all an act. Fortunately for Jensen, he was an actor. He could play it off as if it _was_ an act while inside he was drowning in confusion.

From the moment Misha joined the cast of Supernatural, Jensen had known everything would change. It was subtle at first, the attraction between them. So much so that Jensen could write it off as nothing more than missing his girlfriend. But Misha was kept on for more than the six episodes he was hired to do, for his acting, Jensen thought. Then season 4 aired and Jensen understood that Misha had been kept for a different reason. Seeing himself on screen with Misha, he knew there was something between them he had never experienced with anyone else. And he wasn’t the only one who knew. Their chemistry on-screen led to a widespread desire for a romance between their characters.

Season after season, Jensen tried to deny what was between them. He didn’t understand it, but he knew he loved his girlfriend, so much so that she eventually became his wife, and then the mother of his child. Still, he found himself laughing harder than he’d ever laughed at the ridiculous things Misha would say, finding every opportunity to touch Misha. Even when he was at home, Misha was always there in the back of his mind. He counted down the days until the next time they would be together, smiled at the thought of being near him. And as quickly as those thoughts would arise, he would shove them away by reminding himself that he was a straight, married man. He and Misha were just friends, practically brothers, nothing more.

But now….

He wanted to be angry with Misha for unleashing this on him, yet the thought that shouted over all the rest was, _I want more._

Jensen couldn’t contain himself. He had to say something. Pulling the mic away from his face so the crowd wouldn’t hear, he leaned to Misha’s ear and said, “You moved it…. You moved your hand.”

Misha didn’t respond, but Jensen hadn’t expected him to. If Jensen allowed it, Misha would never acknowledge what he had done, and that’s what Jensen’s better judgment was telling him to do. _Let Misha pretend this never happened._ But his racing thoughts refused to allow him to let this go. _Make him think about it._

Jensen spent the rest of the panel talking about past kisses with other co-stars, fully aware of the fact that this would force Misha to keep their short-lived kiss fresh in his mind. Jensen didn’t understand why part of him wanted Misha to forget, to never speak of it again, but another, louder part of him wanted Misha to remember it just a vividly as he did.

After everything had come to an end for the day, he went to Misha’s room to confront him. With the keycard Misha gave him, he let himself in to find the room empty. He sat in the dark in an empty chair next to the window and listened to the hum of the air conditioner while he stared at the bed. For a moment, he allowed himself to imagine a different scenario. One in which he didn’t confront Misha, but instead he continued what was started on that stage. Both of them, in that bed together.

Flustered by his own thoughts, Jensen adjusted his jeans and reminded himself of the reason he came. After he was off the stage, away from the crowd, and away from Misha, where he could finally gather his thoughts, he decided he would put a stop to this before it could start. _It’s what has to be done_ , he told himself. They couldn’t jeopardize their careers, their marriages, their families.

After what seemed like hours, the door opened. Seeing Jensen in the corner, Misha stood perfectly still as the door closed behind him. Despite the darkness, the blue of his eyes pierced into Jensen, threatening to release everything he’d been bottling up for the last six years.

“Have you lost your mind?” Jensen said, cutting through the silence. “What the hell was that?”

Misha shook his head. After a long, quiet moment he said, “It was just a prank.”

“A prank?” Jensen felt betrayed and relieved at the same time. “Do you know how many people were watching us? How many cameras they had on us?”

“There will always be people and cameras, Jensen. They’ll speculate either way. They always do. Nothing will come of it.”

“We’re married men, Misha. We have children. You could’ve ruined our lives.”

Misha’s shoulders rose with a deep breath, then slumped in defeat. “I’m exhausted, just wanna get some sleep.”

Jensen rose from the chair and said, “Don’t try anything like that again.”

As the door was closing behind him he heard Misha say, “Trust me, I won’t.”

***

Misha kept his word. Any contact he had with Jensen was purely platonic. They acted as if that moment on the stage had never happened. This wasn’t hard while they were apart, done with the cons, back home with their families. But soon enough they were back on set to film season 10.

Jared and Jensen had honored their tradition of going to a local bar to celebrate the beginning of the new season, so Misha didn’t expect any knocks on his door for the rest of the night, much less the one that came just after midnight.

“What’re you doing here Jensen?” Misha asked.

“Didn’t see you around much today.” Jensen took a drink from the beer in his hand. “Can I come in?”

Without saying anything, Misha stepped back, leaving the door open, and Jensen stumbled in, practically falling through the doorway.

“I miss you, man.” Jensen put the beer down on the shelf next to them, then put his hand on Misha’s shoulder.

Misha could see it in Jensen’s eyes, behind the haze of drunkenness was the desire that he had witnessed time and time again, the desire that Jensen refused to admit or even acknowledge, the desire that Jensen would’ve been stifling if he wasn’t intoxicated.

“I think you’ve had a few too many,” Misha said, reaching up to move Jensen’s hand from his shoulder.

Rather than allowing his hand to be moved, Jensen took Misha’s hand into his own, gripping it tightly as he shoved Misha back against the wall, pressed his entire body against Misha’s, placed his free hand on Misha’s neck just before he leaned in, planting his lips against Misha’s. The warmth of his lips tasted like beer, and for a moment, Misha gave into it.

For six years this had been building, and only once before he had given in. That day on the stage. It wasn’t planned by any stretch of the imagination. He wasn’t even supposed to be on stage, but someone had come to him, told him Jensen was struggling with the boxes. Misha went to Jensen’s aid without a second thought. He never imagined that one of those boxes would contain a script that required a kiss, or that Jensen would actually go through with reading the script. Misha had intended the kiss to be fake, but with his arm wrapped around Jensen, and Jensen leaning into him, his resolve faltered.

He moved his hand.

He kissed Jensen.

It had been a mistake, he knew. He regretted it the instant he’d done it. Countless times he’d imagined kissing Jensen, and not one of those fantasies included them being on stage in front of thousands of fans. He’d been summoned to help Jensen, but instead he’d taken advantage of him and placed a weight on Jensen’s shoulders that he wasn’t strong enough to carry alone. He could never forgive himself for this, especially not after the way Jensen reacted in the hotel room that night. Still, none of this stopped Misha from thinking about it every day since then, or from needing to kiss Jensen again in the way that he needed air to breathe. And yet here he was pushing Jensen away because _he tasted like beer_.

Jensen pushed back against his hand as Misha said, “You wouldn’t be doing this if you were sober.”

“I would.” Jensen placed his hand on Misha’s face, trying desperately to pull Misha to him again.

“Jensen, stop.” Misha put his hands on both sides of Jensen face, forcing him to look him straight in the eye as he said, “Go sleep the alcohol off.”

Finally, Jensen backed away. His hands were trembling, his chest rose and fell heavily, his green eyes glazed over.

“Go.” This was one of the most difficult things Misha had ever said. It burned in the back of his throat, stung as it rolled off his tongue.

Jensen slammed the door behind him as he went.

***

Over the period of time he spent away from Misha, Jensen had convinced himself he had everything under control, that he would be able to go back to set and everything would be as it always had been. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

The moment he saw Misha, every last feeling he’d ever experienced was unleashed with the force of a hurricane. There was nothing that could’ve held them back. He’d spent the entire day replaying that moment on stage in his head, wishing he could feel Misha’s lips against his again. He kept his cool though, read through his lines and acted out his scenes flawlessly. No one could have imagined the storm brewing in Jensen’s head.

He went to the bar knowing there were two possibilities.

1\. He would get so drunk that he forgot everything and would be able to breathe for the first time in months.

2\. He would get just drunk enough to give into the feelings that weighed on his chest.

It was possibility number 2 that won and he found himself knocking on Misha’s door with a desperate need to understand his feelings and enough liquid courage to help him do just that.

He expected that Misha’s lips would be warmer than he remembered. He expected that he would enjoy the feeling of Misha’s body pressed against his. What he never expected was for Misha to tell him to stop, to leave.

The pain was worse than any he could’ve imagined. Misha could’ve stabbed him in the gut and thrown him down a flight of stairs and it would’ve hurt less. Jensen didn’t understand how he could’ve been so wrong. Misha was the one who’d kissed him during the panel, not the other way around. What other way was he supposed to interpret being kissed? Nothing made sense. A lifetime of trying to convince himself he was straight and suddenly he wasn’t. Years of pretending he didn’t have feelings for a man and suddenly he could no longer pretend. Months of thinking Misha wanted more than friendship and suddenly he didn’t. Jensen felt like punching a wall and screaming at the top of his lungs and curling into the fetal position all at once.

***

Jensen awoke with the hangover from hell. He’d hoped all of his memories from the night before were made during some sort of alcohol-induced nightmare. But the moment he saw Misha, he knew the memories were reality. He couldn’t quite catch the blue of Misha’s eyes, and Misha _never_ avoided eye contact. All of it had been real. He had made his feelings known, and Misha had sent him running like a wounded puppy.

And of course, all of the scenes scheduled to be filmed included Castiel. Between the anger and the throbbing headache and the pent-up desire and Misha’s existence, he couldn’t focus. The lines escaped him. He missed his marks. Over and over they re-shot the scenes. Jensen could hear the murmurs of concern and confusion from the crew. It was a well-known fact that he only had problems completing a scene if someone—usually Jared—was trying to sabotage the scene. And even then, Jensen was the one who could usually work through the antics. But that was no longer possible when all he could focus on was the pain of being rejected. When the director announced that they were done for the day, Jensen knew they had nothing usable, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

Back in his trailer, he sat on the couch with a beer in one hand and the script in the other, attempting to remember every single line so he wouldn’t embarrass himself again. But even with the words in front of him, they came out wrong, sounding desperate and anxious. He took a drink of the beer, allowing the cool liquid to flow down his throat, trying to force himself to focus, though he knew it was useless. He didn’t need practice or alcohol. Even the feeling of his jeans moving against him was too much to handle. He needed release, but not here. Jared and Misha both had keys. He wouldn’t risk being caught by either of them. Especially not Misha.

Waiting the few seconds it took to get to the bathroom was unbearable. He palmed at himself through the fabric of his pants, trying to offer any relief he could.

With the bathroom door closed and the water streaming down, he ripped his clothes away and jumped in, not caring that the temperature was far from warm. As the droplets ran over his body, going from cold to warm to hot, he quietly fucked into his own hand, trying not to imagine anything or anyone except the feelings of ecstasy coursing through him. Panting and practically doubling over, he was there at the edge, so close he could feel it bubbling in the pit of his stomach, when he heard Misha saying his name. At first he thought he’d imagined it, some overused fantasy forcing its way in. But then he heard it again.

“Jensen… We need to talk.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jensen asked. “I’m in the shower.”

“Get out,” Misha said, not the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I’m not leaving until we’ve settled this.”

Jensen looked down and his face reddened. He was hard as a rock and certain that a single touch could have him spilling on the shower floor. “Can you just give me a minute, man?”

“No.” An arm protruded into the shower and turned the handle, ending the stream of water. Then a towel flew over the curtain, landing on Jensen’s head. “Out. Now.”

Jensen felt like he was about to explode. Every hair on his body stood on end, but Misha clearly wasn’t going to give him the few seconds he needed. So he wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked himself up into it, nearly allowing a moan to escape his throat as his entire body tingled. Then he stepped out of the shower.

***

Misha thought he had been doing the right thing by sending Jensen away. After all, he had told Jensen he would never try anything like that again. He wasn’t one to go back on his word, and he certainly wasn’t one to take advantage of someone’s intoxication, no matter how badly his body ached for him to do just that. He was certain this is what a sober Jensen would have wanted.

Clearly he had been wrong.

Rather than relief, he was met by anger in Jensen’s bloodshot eyes. He maintained his composure as Jensen spit out his lines as if he hoped words could kill. But when Jensen thought Misha wasn’t paying attention, the fury fell away from his face. He looked lost and broken, like any moment he might crumble to the floor. Knowing he was the cause of this, Misha’s stomach churned.

When he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow betrayed Jensen, he found himself standing on the steps of Jensen’s trailer. His knocking went unanswered and the door was locked. He considered returning to his own trailer, but he had to make things right with Jensen. From his keyring, he found the one that opened Jensen’s trailer and allowed himself in.

The sound of the falling water filled the trailer. Misha planted himself on the couch, planning to wait, but the longer he sat there, the more unmistakable Jensen’s panting became. It blended with the water at first, almost inaudible. As the minutes passed, it grew louder, uneven, desperate. To the point that Misha was sure he would crawl out of his own skin if he waited any longer. He would absolutely come unglued if he listened to Jensen fall over the edge.

So he put a stop to it, letting himself in the bathroom, telling Jensen to get out. And when Jensen refused, he reached in and turned the water off, took a towel and flung it over. If he’d listened to his body, he would’ve ignored every sane thought in his head and climbed in with Jensen, but he controlled himself. He had to be certain of what Jensen’s earlier behavior meant.

Then Jensen stepped out of the shower, water droplets running down his bare chest, meeting the towel that hung just above his waist, and suddenly Misha was speechless.

“You said you wanted to talk,” Jensen said, the anger returning to his voice. “Let’s talk.”

“I—uh—” Misha’s tongue was dry. This was not at all how he had intended to start the conversation. It was too much, Jensen being in front of him like this, after last night, after what he’d just heard Jensen doing, seeing the look of absolute desperation that flooded his green eyes. “Maybe you should put some clothes on.”

Jensen shook his head. His voice was quiet and fractured when he asked, “Why’d you send me away?”

Misha took a step toward him. “You weren’t thinking clearly.” Another step and he was close enough to Jensen that he could feel the heat of his skin, but he wouldn’t move any closer, not until he was sure. “You didn’t know what you were doing.”

Jensen’s voice was steady as he said, “Yes, I did.”

And that was all Misha needed to hear.

Never taking his eyes off Jensen’s, he pinned him against the sink and waited for any sign that Jensen was uncomfortable, that he wanted to stop. Jensen responded by sliding his hands under Misha’s shirt, tugging it over his head, pulling Misha against him. The skin of Jensen’s chest was slick with water, but warmth radiated from him. Misha leaned in, kissing Jensen slowly as he slipped his hand past the top of the towel, taking Jensen into his hand, rubbing slowly, teasing the tip with his thumb until Jensen was writhing against him. He trailed kisses down Jensen’s neck, matching each one with the beat of his hand.

“I’ve never—been with—a man—before,” Jensen panted against Misha’s shoulder.

Misha leaned back, removing his hand. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Jensen didn’t hesitate, grabbing Misha’s hand, placing it back where it was. “Fuck, no. Please don’t.” The towel fell to the floor, leaving Jensen completely exposed as he rocked into Misha’s palm.

As the haze on the mirror behind the sink began to clear, Misha could see himself pressed against Jensen, their tangle of skin flushed pink with arousal, Jensen’s shoulders tense as he braced himself on the counter. The sight left him wanting to push Jensen to the floor, to push inside of him. But Misha knew he had to take this slowly, so he closed his eyes and focused on Jensen’s lips, his jawline, his neck. Continuing to pump slowly as quiet moans escaped Jensen’s lips.

Jensen gasped loudly and flung his hand over Misha’s, stopping him. Misha felt sick with the thought that Jensen had changed his mind, but he pulled his hand away, fulling willing to put an end to this if that’s what Jensen wanted.

Then Jensen said, “Dammit I’m so close, Mish—but I don’t want this to be over.”

So Misha kept his hands away as he pressed his lips against Jensen’s skin, determined to become familiar with every inch of it. Starting with the spray of freckles on his cheeks, he made his way down. Kissing Jensen’s shoulders, his chest, his hands, his stomach, until he was on his knees. As he took Jensen into his mouth, Jensen’s knees buckled and he had to place one hand against the wall to hold himself up. As Misha slipped his mouth back and forth, dragging his tongue across the base and then the tip, he watched Jensen carefully. Jensen’s eyes were closed. His mouth hung open as he sharply sucked in air and released it in small groans. The skin of Jensen’s knuckles went white as he gripped the counter. His hips jolted erratically to meet Misha’s lips, and then his whole body went stiff, his toes curling as he cried out obscenities and spilled into Misha’s mouth. Misha carried Jensen through it, using his tongue to draw out every last bit of pleasure until Jensen went soft in his mouth.

Misha fell back gently, planting himself on the floor as he stared up at Jensen, studying the flush of his skin, the blissed out expression on his face. He throbbed against his jeans. It was excruciating, touching Jensen as he had, but not being able to touch himself at the memory of it. Even so, he didn’t dare move. He was content to sit there all night with Jensen standing in front of him, but he knew this wasn’t feasible. When Jensen extended his hand, Misha took it, allowing Jensen to help him to his feet.

Misha scanned the floor for his shirt, preparing for the moment Jensen asked him to leave. Instead, Jensen threaded his fingers through Misha’s and studied their entwined hands for a moment before placing his free hand on Misha’s face, caressing it with his thumb as he pulled Misha’s lips to his.

Misha never expected this, or that Jensen would tighten his grip on Misha’s hand, or lead him out of the bathroom, or stop next to the unmade bed, or unbutton his pants and push them to his ankles.

“You don’t have to do this, Jensen.”

“I want to.” There was something primal in his eyes as he pulled Misha down to the edge of the bed.

Jensen kissed him slowly, as if he were savoring the taste, trying to commit it to memory. Without breaking away, he reached between Misha’s legs, surprising Misha with the softness of his hand. His strokes were slow and shaky at first, but quickly grew swift and firm, leaving Misha rolling his hips to meet Jensen’s hand.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Jensen murmured in his ear as he ran his free hand through Misha’s hair, then trailed his fingers down Misha’s back, sending chills across Misha’s skin. He peppered Misha’s shoulder with kisses and followed each one with his teeth, leaving shallow marks behind.

Misha felt as if he was coming undone. Strand by stand, kiss by kiss, stroke by stroke, Jensen was taking him apart. The pressure and heat built in his stomach, leaving him gasping and whimpering until it exploded throughout his entire body. As he lost all control, he leaned into Jensen, gripping his skin tightly as the tremors took over his muscles.

They stayed like this for a quiet moment, perfectly still, their arms tangled around each other, their hearts racing in their chests. Misha focused on Jensen’s stable breaths, trying to force his own to match them.

It was Jensen who moved first, leaving Misha on the bed as he went into the bathroom. In his absence, the space around Misha felt cold and empty. His body ached to be wrapped around Jensen’s again. He stood from the bed, pulled his pants from around his ankles, and buttoned them as he followed Jensen into the bathroom.

Jensen stood in front of the sink, wearing boxers now, as he cleaned his hands. Misha stood behind him, studying Jensen’s reflection, the way his muscles moved as he ran his hands under the water. It was involuntary, when he reached out, running his hands down Jensen’s arms, then sliding them around Jensen’s waist, bringing his chest to Jensen’s back, his head to Jensen’s shoulder.

“You could stay,” Jensen said, meeting Misha’s eyes in the mirror.

Misha shook his head against Jensen’s skin. “We both know I can’t...”

Jensen closed his eyes and turned his head, pressing his nose against Misha’s cheek, breathing in deeply.

Misha quickly tightened his arms around Jensen, then released him, grabbed his shirt from the floor, and left Jensen behind in the bathroom. He stopped at the door of Jensen’s trailer to pull his shirt over his head, then let himself out, trying to hide the smile that wouldn’t leave his face.


End file.
